


You Play For Zenit Now

by catmanu



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Dej: bottom and top at once, Dejan's Other Boyfriends Mention, First Time, Harry Potter References, I don't know how to explain this fic in the tags so just read it, M/M, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, Zenit St. Petersburg, threesomes with a twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26868895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catmanu/pseuds/catmanu
Summary: Dejan and Sardar are responsible for Zenit's 2 goals to Rostov's 0.  Dejan thinks this'll be the perfect night to really get things going with his new teammate, withno oneto get in their way.But Zenit is still Artem's world, and Artem will find a way to remind Dejan of that, even from hours away.
Relationships: Artem Dzyuba/Dejan Lovren/Sardar Azmoun, Artem Dzyuba/Sardar Azmoun, Dejan Lovren/Sardar Azmoun
Comments: 9
Kudos: 18





	You Play For Zenit Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Borderlinemediocre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Borderlinemediocre/gifts).



> Okay, so I started writing this like two months ago, but my bro Borderlinemediocre was my primary motivation for finishing it, so it's now officially a birthday gift for him. Happy birthday, my bro ❤️❤️ Full fucking homo.
> 
> I've been enjoying branching out as a writer lately and trying to write some things that are a little different from my usual stuff. This is one of those things, I think. The dialogue and characterizations were easy-peasy, but the whole technical aspect of writing this, not so much. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> (HP reference tag cause, you know. Artem is a self-professed Harry Potter nerd, so I had no choice.)

“You are coming right to my room,” Dejan says to Sardar in the hotel lobby. “Don’t even think of going somewhere else.”

Dejan isn’t totally sure how he feels about Sardar Azmoun yet, where he fits into his life—if he does—but he _does_ know that the Iranian striker is pretty and a little wicked with soft, dark hair and he wants him tonight after their victory. _Their_ victory. His and Sardar’s.

“Oh, really?” Sardar asks. “What if I have to pee?”

“I can see the future, did you know?” Dejan says. “My room will have a bathroom. Just for you.”

“Are you _sure?_ ” Sardar’s wink only confirms that Dejan needs him tonight. 

“Sardar, do you want my dick or not?” Dejan says, blowing some frustrated air out of his mouth even though he’s not really frustrated. He looks around—none of their teammates seem to have heard him, even though he doesn’t know if he’d care if they had. 

“You know the answer,” Sardar says. “I just didn’t know if you wanted me right away…”

“I want you right _now,_ actually.. We’re feeling good, we scored the two goals tonight, you and me…” _Dzyuba’s not here…_ This last part is almost the most important part, but Sardar doesn’t need to know that.

Sardar is obedient. He comes right to Dejan’s room with all his things.

“You know what we need to do?” Sardar asks, a very light red spreading over his cheeks.

“What, find lube? Maybe I have some in my bag.” Dejan winks at Sardar. It’s not a maybe at all. “Go look and see, maybe I will give you your prize.”

“No. We need to call Daddy. Uh, shit, I mean—”

“Daddy?”

Apparently Sardar mistakes his slight disgust for stupidity or something. “You know, Artem.”

“You call him _daddy?_ Come on, really?”

Sardar is turning _very_ pink. “Yeah, I call him that sometimes. And also other things.”

“Fuck,” Dejan sighs. “It’s us who scored, that guy wasn’t even on the bench. This should be just the two of—” Sardar is pulling his iPad out of his backpack. “Hey! Put that back!”

“Sorry, brate, we can’t just leave him out,” Sardar explains, propping it up against the TV at the perfect angle for video chatting—Dejan knows it well. He’s very prepared for this whole thing, Dejan thinks. Almost like it’s _not_ just a sudden idea he had.

“Actually yes. We _can_ just leave him out, because he’s not here, so he doesn’t have to know what we are doing—” He grabs Sardar’s arm but it’s too late—he’s already requested a video chat with TËMA 💕💕, and it looks like TËMA has picked up.

“HEY HEYYY! MY BOYS!”

Artem's sprawled out on his couch in tight-fitting Batman pajama pants, shirtless—Dejan swallows—with a bottle of beer in his hand. Even in the dim light on Artem's end and the sort of weak connection, Artem's glowing.

Well, might as well play along with whatever the fuck is happening here. Dejan pretends to double high-five Artem through the screen. “We did pretty good today, don't you think?”

“Pretty good? Fucking incredible. You did it just how I would. Imagine if I was there, it would have been 4-0, right?” He laughs and takes a big drink.

“Probably,” Sardar says, just as Dejan's saying, “We did fine ourselves.”

“What's that, Lovren? Are you saying you don't need Artem Dzyuba to score?” Artem laughs again, scratching his smooth chest, and Dejan feels kind of...captivated, if that’s the word. He doesn’t want to look away.

“Yeah. Maybe I am saying that.”

“That is no way to speak to our captain,” Sardar says, winking. He nuzzles his cheek against Dejan’s and his thigh against Dejan’s thigh and Dejan’s dick is a little hard in his pants now. Sardar’s a flirt, the kind of flirt that _he_ is. He likes this. He likes this a lot.

“Thank you, Sardar, thank you, thank you. I love this guy, did you know that?” Artem says, pointing at Sardar while looking right at Dejan. “I love him more than anything. So, are you two celebrating together? That's it?”

“Our captain is a genius, wow,” Dejan says, rolling his eyes. “Yes, we are celebrating.” His Russian is improving. It helps to have motivation. Fucking with Artem, not letting him win anywhere other than on the pitch, is good motivation. “A private celebration. _Private._ Just me and Sardar.”

“Hmmm, celebrating. Celebrating, celebrating.” Artem strokes an imaginary beard like he’s a fucking clown. “How are you celebrating? Champagne, fireworks? Strippers? _Male_ strippers, since it’s you, Lovren. I imagine ladies wouldn’t feel like much of a celebration for you, no?”

Sardar giggles before Dejan can tell Artem to shove his truthful statement up his big, thick ass. Not that Dejan has thought about his captain’s ass. Definitely not. “We’re going to fuck, Tyoma. At least, if he wants me we will.” He traces his tongue over Dejan’s ear and Dejan shivers like someone’s dumped ice on him. “And I think he does.”

“I mean, that’s the way I’d celebrate. If I was there...I’d lay down between you two pretty boys. Make you take your shirts off.” Artem reaches underneath his sweatpants to readjust the bulge that’s appeared there. “Ahh, that’s better. So, do it.”

“Do _what?_ ” Dejan asks.

“Take your shirts off, I want to see you. I’m your captain, let’s go.” He snaps his fingers at Dejan. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”

Sardar’s hands are suddenly at the hem of Dejan’s tshirt. “Come on, baby,” he says in English, and Dejan gets harder at this pretty boy calling him _baby_. “Do it, I want to see you too.”

“You have to take yours off too, otherwise it isn’t fair.”

Sardar listens, whipping his shirt off and onto the floor. Out of the men Dejan’s been with, Sardar is the least _sculpted,_ but that doesn’t keep Dejan’s mouth from watering. He looks at that tattoo. _Love me for who I am_. 

_Oh…_ Dejan thinks. _Oh, I will._

“Hmm, that’s good, that’s nice,” Artem says. He switches into his terrible English. “You.” He points at the both of them. “Good boys, pretty boys. Yes?” And back into Russian. “I’m a lucky man.”

“ _Boys?_ What boys. Maybe _he’s_ the boy, our little Sardar. But I am just a year younger than you,” Dejan snaps. It’s getting harder to express himself in Russian; he’s replacing words he doesn’t know with the words in Croatian and hoping it makes some kind of sense. “I’ll kick your fucking ass next time I see you if you call me that again. An accident at training, how sad.”

“Dude, calm _down_ ,” Sardar says, crawling into Dejan’s lap at the edge of the bed. He’s so warm and fuck, he smells so fucking good. “It’s going to be okay. It is just how he talks, you know?”

“I don’t like how he talks.”

“Come on, Dej,” Sardar whispers, and puts his lips on Dejan’s. His mouth is so soft and sweet that Dejan’s instantly shivering against him, grabbing his hair to bring them closer together. Sardar’s mouth seems to fit perfectly against Dejan’s. When Dejan tugs harder on his hair, Sardar moans the way no one should be moaning so soon after being kissed. _Fuck,_ Dejan manages to think. _This guy is on another level._ Well, Dejan’s happy to be like that too. He lets one of his hands drift across Sardar’s smooth stomach and then shoves it under his waistband. Sardar hums as Dejan grabs his dick. He throws a leg around Dejan’s back.

“Good boy,” Dejan says. He makes sure to say it in Russian. 

“Hey, I can’t see anything!” Artem yells from behind them. 

“Shhhh,” Dejan whispers against Sardar’s lips as his fist tries to find a rhythm. “Ignore him, please. Even better…hang up.”

Sardar shakes his head and turns around, crawling out of Dejan’s lap and sitting back next to him on the bed. Dejan stares down at his empty fist. Just a moment ago he was jerking Sardar off. Now what?

“Tyoma, am I allowed to have Dejan fuck me?”

“Hey, hey. _Excuse_ me. What do you mean?” Dejan asks in English so Artem won’t understand it. Hopefully this will piss him off and he won’t be able to do anything but sit there and be angry about it while shirtless—Dejan has way too many thoughts about Artem shirtless, he really fucking does—on his couch in St. Petersburg. “What do you mean, are you allowed. Are you a grown man or what?”

“Tell me what he said,” Artem commands, and he snorts when Sardar tells him. “ _Are you a grown man or what._ ” Dejan has to admit Artem does a pretty good job imitating him, even in a different language. “Sure, maybe his mom thinks he’s a grown man. But with me, he knows how it is, right, baby?”

“Mmhmm,” Sardar says, nodding and squirming next to Dejan. Dejan normally likes to know what’s happening around him at all times, but he wishes, just a little bit, that he didn’t understand Russian right now.

“Well, I don’t care if you’re not allowed,” Dejan says. “You’re going to let him tell you what to do? Do you want to suck my dick?”

Sardar nods, his pink little tongue poking out to wet his lips.

Dejan squeezes the bulge in Sardar’s pants, which has grown since he last touched it. “Take these off, I’m tired of them,” he says. He nudges his own pants down his legs, trying to encourage him. Sardar is good. He listens, and then he’s naked. Dejan has seen him like that in the locker room, but this, with a pink flush on his cheeks and his dick shamelessly hard between his legs, cut just like Mo’s and a little bit wet at the tip, this…Sardar standing like this and not at all embarrassed about it…this is something different.

Suddenly Sardar drops to his knees and pushes Dejan’s thighs apart and then there’s a mouth on his balls, Sardar’s mouth, kissing them and rubbing them against his cheek and breathing like he’s in love. Dejan moans louder than he’d like and his eyes widen as Sardar takes his dick down his throat like he’s hungry, nearly all at once, and there’s two big blue eyes staring right back at him. Dejan flinches. Artem must have his face so close to the camera for his eyes to look so big and round, he thinks. And blue. _Sine_ or maybe _golubye._ The Zenit blues.

Artem nods at him and Dejan squints so he doesn’t have to see.

“What are you waiting for, Lovren…Grab his hair or something. Don’t waste him.”

It’s a good idea. Dejan combs Sardar’s thick hair off his forehead and strokes it, going back and forth between gentle and rough to see what kinds of noises Sardar will make. Good noises, it turns out, no matter what he does. Sardar traces little circles over the most sensitive spots on Dejan’s thighs as his mouth works and his tongue twists, and every time he pulls almost all the way off Dejan’s dick, he looks right up at him. 

“Beautiful…you are so beautiful, to be honest you’re one of the most beautiful men I have ever—” He traces his fingers over Sardar’s face, feeling how his cheeks are puffed out from having such a full mouth. _A mouth full of me_. 

Yes, Dejan forgets everything with Sardar’s beautiful brown eyes staring up at him, fluttering closed when he takes Dejan all the way into his mouth and then opening again. He makes little breathy noises as he deepthroats, too. It’s heaven. It’s perfect. Where the fuck did this guy come from? How did he ever live without Sardar Azmoun’s mouth?

It takes him a moment to realize that Sardar’s stopped sucking him off and Artem’s yelling from the video chat. His dick feels cold and wet without Sardar’s mouth around it and it’s not cool at _all_ to just stop like that. What the fuck is going on? Artem is spitting words at his poor Sardar in Russian that’s going too fast for Dejan’s four weeks of studying to understand. He hears... _fuck...mine..._ It’s breaking his brain, that’s what it’s doing. 

“Hey, Dzyuba.” He’s practiced saying Artem’s name with the correct accent. “Shut up.”

Sardar shakes his head at Dejan, looking overwhelmed. “No, no. We have to fuck now.”

“We _have_ to?” Dejan says. “I mean yes. I want to, but my dick isn’t taking orders from Artem, to be honest.”

Artem is still talking. “What’s he saying?”

“Uhhh.” Sardar bites his lips and combs his fingers through his sweaty hair. “That you and I are getting too…that we need to remember that I am _his._ That my ass is his.”

Fuck, nothing was this complicated at Liverpool. Maybe being Klopp’s fourth choice was better than this. “Come on, that’s not all he’s saying, brate. There are a lot of words coming out of his mouth.”

“It’s all you need to know, Dej. I promise. Anyway, come on.” He kisses Dejan’s legs. “You are so strong...so tall and big, Dej. Don’t you want me? You know I want you.”

Dejan thinks about this for a moment. He’s not interested in letting Artem get to him, and he’s got the beautiful Iranian striker on his knees wanting it...Really, there’s no choice here. He slides his hands under Sardar’s armpits and hauls him onto his lap. Sardar’s as hard as he is, and he takes both their dicks in his fist and jerks them together, Sardar so warm in his hand.

“You want me, hmm?” he murmurs in Sardar’s ear, and then kisses him on the lips, big, full, slow kisses. 

“Yes, please, Dej,” Sardar whines back. “From the minute we played our first game, I…”

Dejan grabs a handful of his pretty, thick, dark hair and scrapes his teeth up Sardar’s warm neck. If he leaves a mark, so what? This is the Russian league; things are different here. 

He doesn’t waste any more time, reaching behind him for the lube. He slides a finger into Sardar, loving his little gurgles. It’s so warm inside him; Dejan can’t even imagine how he’ll feel squeezing around his dick. Sardar’s clearly ready for a second finger, but Dejan works him open more slowly than he usually would. Maybe Artem will get bored and hang up and go stick his dick in a bottle of vodka or something.

But Dejan’s not the most patient guy in the world, no. “Fuck it,” he says, throwing the bottle behind him. “Come on, Sardar. How do you want it? I will let you choose. I’m very nice, right?”

Sardar’s fast. He shows Dejan exactly how he wants it, turning around so he faces away and lowering his cute little ass down, down till it nudges against the swollen tip of Dejan’s dick. Dejan spreads him apart, letting his fingers brush Sardar’s hole. It clenches underneath them. “Good boy, good boy,” he whispers against Sardar’s neck, and Sardar moans at the feeling of Dejan’s breath on his skin. 

Sardar sinks down onto him so easily Dejan barely has to do any work. It’s like he’s practiced this, and Dejan realizes with a little jolt that goes right through his dick that Sardar’s probably the most experienced guy he’s ever been with. Šime’s experienced now—they fuck so naturally they don’t even have to talk about it—but it was so long ago when they got started; neither of them knew what the fuck they were doing at first. And Mo, well. He’s confident enough, but a few years ago…

Sardar, though. He’s done this before. Many, many times, and it’s obvious with _who_. He relaxes as Dejan nudges his hips up, his dick sinking deep into Sardar so easily it’s kind of crazy. Sardar’s so warm, and as relaxed as he already is, he’s still snug around Dejan’s dick as he squeezes.

“You feel so fucking good, Sardar. My Sardar.” Dejan digs his teeth into Sardar’s shoulder and slaps him on the thigh to get him to start moving. Sardar starts bouncing up and down on his dick right away. Dejan wraps his arm around his waist to feel his abs working. That’s the thing about fucking footballers, see—they’re fun to touch and feel, they’re powerful, so powerful even while riding a dick. Dejan kisses the soft skin behind Sardar’s ear and starts to thrust forward, enjoying the sound of Sardar’s ass slapping his hips. Neither of them is gentle. He likes that. 

The best part of this night is getting to fuck Sardar Azmoun at last. The worst part is that getting to fuck Sardar makes Dejan keep forgetting that they’re not alone. 

“You like my dick, Sardar?” Dejan asks, grabbing Sardar’s hips to help him bounce up and down. “Tell me—”

“Tell me how daddy’s dick feels in you, baby,” Artem says out of nowhere, and Dejan’s so startled he almost knocks Sardar onto the floor. “Does it feel so good? Nice and big like always?”

“Yes, daddy,” Sardar gasps. _What?_

“And is it the best one you’ve ever had? I know my Sardar’s had a _lot_.” He winks at Sardar and for a second Dejan figures he must be dreaming. He hopes he’s dreaming. “Is it the best one?”

“Yes, yes, you know yours is the best, Tyoma, the biggest, the—” Sardar grinds down on Dejan’s dick and moans, interrupting himself. Nope, not a dream. Definitely real. Dejan slaps his hand over Sardar’s mouth.

“Don’t be rude to me, Sardar, finish your sentence. You’ll hurt my feelings.” Artem’s grin is so wide all his crooked teeth show. Dejan’s angry, he’s furious, because who the _fuck_ does this guy think he is, but also Sardar’s taking his fingers into his mouth and licking them with his talented tongue and—

“Shut _up,_ ” Dejan says. “Fuck off.” 

“Sardar, baby, my baby.”

“ _Hello_? Did you fucking hear me? I said, _fuck off_.” And Dejan grabs Sardar’s dick in his hand and starts pumping it hard, rough. Sardar’s groaning loudly and his thighs and abs are clenching and the tip of his dick is leaking out onto Dejan’s fingers. God, it would be so perfect if Artem weren’t watching, but the fact that Artem _is_ watching isn’t making his dick any less hard. Actually, being pissed off is just making Dejan harder.

“Sardar. Talk to your Tyoma. How do I feel?” Artem and his bulging blue eyes are so close to the screen Dejan feels like he could reach out and kick him in the face. 

“So good—” Sardar cries out, his voice broken. “So good—you are so deep—I _love_ you—”

“Good, good,” Artem says in English. “Very good, Sardar, you love me, very good.”

“So big—”

Dejan slides some fingers into Sardar’s mouth now—anything to get him to shut up—and Sardar sucks them like a dick, moaning around them and then trying to call out Artem’s name. Dejan would think he’d hate this, but every time Sardar chokes out a _Tyoma_ he gets closer and closer to the edge and he doesn’t know why.

So he tries to play along, spitting into his fist and wrapping it back around Sardar’s dick. He’ll beat Artem at his stupid little alpha-male game. Who’d even think they could beat Dejan Lovren at a game like that, anyway? “You like this, Sardar?” he pants. “Do you want more? You want me to make you come, yes?”

He lets Sardar spit his fingers out. “Yes, Tyoma, my Tyoma, I want—please—”

Dejan doesn’t know how Sardar will ever be able to play football again, that’s how hard they’re fucking, slamming together like wild beasts. _The way Artem does it, huh._

“Tell me more,” Dejan commands. He lets go of Sardar’s dick. Make him work for it a little harder.

“Please make me come, Tyoma, I scored today, I was _good_ today—” 

“Yes, yes, you were—”

“I didn’t fuck up, just like you told me, I—I listened, I was good—” Sardar’s voice is not high, but it is now as he begs, as he tries so hard not to come. He is good. He is.

Dejan’s close, so close. He’d love to come inside Sardar. That had been his plan, but his mind has come up with a better one. _Mark him so the big dumbass can see he’s yours. Do it. Now._

Dejan pulls out and wrestles Sardar onto the carpet. He kind of hates pulling out, that’s the thing. Only if the other guy asks for it. When’s the last time he pulled out of Šime, you know? But he manages to grab Sardar’s beautiful black hair again and tilt his head back, roughly, jerking his slippery dick off with his other hand, and he comes all over Sardar’s gasping mouth, his eyes flickering shut.

He slumps to the floor as soon as he’s done. He needs a moment to catch his breath, but Sardar is staring at him, dazed, waiting so patiently, and Dejan’s automatically on his knees in front of him, kissing and licking his own come off Sardar’s pretty skin. The poor boy is so hard, his tip pink and wet. Dejan reaches down to jerk him off again, mumbling against his lips like he’d do to Mo. “Good boy, my pretty, good boy. Come for me, Sardar…” Sardar’s whimpering, his hips beginning to twitch. “Come for me, sweet boy…” He forgets there’s someone watching. Sardar’s gone from little twitches to fully fucking his fist now, so fast Dejan feels his balls slapping against his hand. He mumbles something Dejan doesn’t understand and Dejan feels his dick pulse between his fingers as he comes. His body lifts off the floor gracefully, like he’s dancing. His eyes close, showing off his long eyelashes. Sweat trickles down his stomach.

“Sardar. My Sardar…You are so pretty. So beautiful, like a little doll.”

Dejan’s a little startled by the voice behind him. He’d completely forgotten that Artem was there. The big guy sounds different right now, too. His voice is softer than Dejan’s ever heard before. 

Sardar’s smile is wobbly and when he lifts his hand to wave to Artem, his hand is wobbly too. Artem is sitting very far forward, his elbows on his knees, leaning close to the camera. His necklace is catching whatever light’s in the room; the cross is shining like something holy is happening to him. 

“Thank you,” Sardar murmurs to no one, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his wobbly hand.

“I love you, Sardar. My baby.” The big guy has hearts in his eyes. 

“What about me?” Dejan asks. “After all that?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Artem waves his hand. “You have to work for it just like everyone else.”

“Oh, your love is some fucking prize? Please.” But Dejan can’t take his eyes away from the stupid lovesick look on Artem’s face. Maybe…in some way…maybe it is.

“What did he say?” Artem demands. “He’s talking shit, isn’t he? Tell me what he said.”

Sardar looks at Dejan. “Uh, should I—”

“I will never say anything I don’t mean. Go for it.”

Artem laughs and shakes his head at the translation. “Oh, Sardar. Our Croatian has a lot to learn, huh?”

There’s an awkward silence.

“Well, I’ve been having a Harry Potter marathon,” Artem says, and Dejan nearly bursts out laughing. _What???_ “I was in the middle of the Chamber of Secrets when you two called.” He flops back against the back of the couch and points at the bulge in his Batman pants, as if anyone could possibly have missed it. “I’ve got to go take care of this basilisk, right? _Enemies of the heir beware!_ ” He laughs at his own joke, but Dejan doesn’t know much about Harry Potter and he’s never heard Artem speak that much English before, so he’s confused enough that he barely realizes Artem’s blowing kisses at both of them and then ending the call.

It’s so quiet for a moment. It’s amazing just how much noise Artem is capable of making, even from hours away. How much space he takes up. Well, he’s gone now, thank God.

“What the fuck just happened?” Dejan asks.

“Zenit. You play for Zenit now,” is all Sardar says. It’s a shitty explanation, and yet Dejan feels like it’s the only one he’ll ever hear from now on.

“Is this, uh. Is this another one of those things you do to the new guy?”

“No, no. Definitely not. It was just for you. He _likes_ you. You know?”

 _Your love is some fucking prize._ Dejan shakes his head, trying to make this all go away. “I mean…okay, fuck. Let’s focus. I want to forget this weird shit and just…you felt amazing, Sardar, to be honest. One of the best I’ve—”

“Thank you. You felt good, too, Dej. I want to do it again, with you. Just us.”

“ _I_ felt good?” Dejan wraps his arms around Sardar and runs his finger over that tattoo. _Love me for who I am_. “I thought _Artem_ was fucking you tonight.”

Sardar giggles. “No, no. Don’t worry, Dej.” He turns his head and kisses Dejan softly on the lips. It’s the kind of kiss that could get a guy hard again. “ _I_ knew it was you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments would make my day :)


End file.
